


Decade and One

by laRouge



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Slice of Life, basically my headcanons for time skip iwaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laRouge/pseuds/laRouge
Summary: A collection of Iwaizumi and Oikawa between Argentina and California.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39
Collections: Iwaoi fluff week 2020





	1. And The Third One Between

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **Iwaoi Fluff Week 2020** , third day, _domestic_. I wanted to write some more chapters, but then my vacation happened. I will add them in the next days as I finish them. 
> 
> These are mainly my headcanons for the boys after the time skip; it's mainly teeth-rotting fluff, because I just want them to be happy of their lives.

They meet him when they visit the local shelter, three months into their new life, when the feeling of being lonely in a foreign country is too strong to stay inside their skin and their living room. They swear to themselves that they’re only looking for information, when they leave their small apartment, that they’re not really ready.

The middle-aged lady at the counter doesn’t speak English very well, and Iwaizumi leaves Oikawa to deal with that and lags behind instead, curiously stealing glances at the puppies and kittens that he can see behind the woman’s back. The shelter is a cacophony of small meows and yapping, too crowded like they usually are. Iwaizumi had been to one just once, when he was a child, grabbing his mother’s leg, and he had come back with a small pup bundled in his arm.

Young Oikawa had been jealous of that puppy, and Iwaizumi smiles fondly at the memory; current Oikawa is bowing slightly to the lady, who looks amused by his very Japanese reflex, and gesturing for him to come closer.

“Come on, Iwa-chan,” he says, gently grabbing his arm to pull him. Iwaizumi doesn’t know why he always needs to do that; after all, it’s not like he isn’t always following anyway. “She said that there is a new litter of puppies that came up for adoption last week!”

“Weren’t we just asking for information?” he smiles, and he’s already moving behind the counter, and Oikawa’s harassed squeak makes his lips curve even more.

“There’s no harm in looking, right?” Oikawa pouts, and Iwaizumi laughs out loud this time. The woman doesn’t understand what they’re saying, but she smiles anyway because happiness is an universal language, and Iwaizumi is happy, here and now, in an animal shelter in San Juan with Oikawa.

The puppies are a lively bunch; they’re a tidal wave of warm brown fur, some splattered with white and black in a liberal amount. They pile at the small gate as they step closer, and when Oikawa climbs over in the pit he’s immediately swarmed.

Iwaizumi stays behind, content with the sight of the scene playing in front of him. Oikawa leans down, small paws and even smaller snouts immediately competing for his attention, and he laughs with delight as he lets all the puppies smell him, and climb over his legs in an overjoyed dance.

Actually, not all puppies; there’s a very small pup, his fur more black than brown, watching with sad eyes from the other side of the room. He’s curled on himself, his little tail giving some rare, weak wag, but doesn’t look like he’s going to come closer.

The lady notices Iwaizumi watching the pup, and regards him with a small smile.

“Bad leg,” she manages to say, pointing her chin at the dog. “Very small. Runt?” she asks, unsure that she’s using the right word. Iwaizumi stares, deep in thought. “Not very much request”.

Something clicks inside Iwaizumi, his chest constricting around these words. He steps into the room, over the small fence keeping the puppies contained. Oikawa looks up from where he’s folded down with the puppies.

Iwaizumi kneels when he reaches the pup, gently extending his hand for the pup to sniff. Now that he’s closer, he can see the small speckles of white admixed with his black and brown fur; and his right hinder leg is slightly crooked, and smaller than the other three.

There’s a very minute flurry of movement, and then the softest point of contact as the pup pushes his nose into Iwaizumi’s hand, resting his chin on his palm, and looks up to him with very kind eyes.

“It’s him,” Iwaizumi says, and when he turns Oikawa is staring at him with a smile on his lips, and a fond light in his eyes, and it’s breathtaking for a moment to remember that this man is _his_ , and they’re doing this together. There’s an unexpected urgency in his voice, and his words tremble as they leave his mouth. “It’s him, Tooru”.

“Yes, I can see it, Hajime,” Oikawa is smiling, bright as the sun, as he pushes himself to stand and comes closer, letting the puppy sniff his hand as well before dragging gentle fingers through the fur on his head. “How are we calling him?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Iwaizumi grins, his shoulder playfully jostling against Oikawa’s. “I’m leaving the hard work to you, Tooru”.

Oikawa grins back, happy and open and carefree. The puppy is a warm weight against Iwaizumi’s leg, and Oikawa is a warm anchor against his left side, and Iwaizumi allows himself to think, for a moment, that nothing could ever get any better than this. 


	2. Her Name Is Rio and She Dances on The Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say, Iwa-chan,” he muses then, eyes following him as Iwaizumi drapes his shirt over the chair to let it air. “You’ll never guess who I met today at the beach”.

It’s late in the evening when Iwaizumi hears the door of their shared room click open; he stifles a yawn into his shoulder, and saves the essay he’s working on before shutting his computer closed, and gets up.

Oikawa looks _baked_ , like he usually does when he spends a day out in the sun; there’s red high on his cheekbones, and down the bridge of his nose, and his eyes shine more than usual. Some more days like this, and he’ll get blonde streaks in his hair, Iwaizumi muses.

“Had a fun day?”

Oikawa lifts his eyes with a tired smile.

“Yes, sorry to leave you alone for dinner,” he smiles, a happy lilt in his voice. “I got side-tracked”.

“Don’t worry, I ordered something in as I finished on some homework,” he moves in reflex, dropping a light kiss on Oikawa’s lips in greeting and prying his sport bag out of his hands, already pulling out the crumpled kit inside. A ton of sand falls on his feet, and he shakes his head. “You could have at least tried not to bring the whole beach with you”.

“Whops?” Oikawa’s bashful smile is a constant. Iwaizumi doesn’t even feel in himself to be angry. “Sand is very sneaky and rude, you know”.

“I won’t even try to understand what does that mean”.

Oikawa follows him into the bedroom, and flops down in a knot of messy limbs all over the bed; even, Iwaizumi notices, on his side of it. He pushes himself up on his elbows, and stares at Iwaizumi with a cryptic smile on his face.

“Say, Iwa-chan,” he muses then, eyes following him as Iwaizumi drapes his shirt over the chair to let it air. “You’ll never guess who I met today at the beach”.

“Hinata Shoyo”.

Iwaizumi times his movement as soon as the words leave his mouth, to turn around and catch Oikawa gaping in surprise. He smirks, resisting the urge to blow him a kiss, and then finishes pulling out everything from the bag and neatly puts it away.

He sits on the edge of their bed and Oikawa is still gaping at him.

_Oh no_ , he muses, a fond smile on his lips as he ruffles his hair. _I broke him_.

“How—” Oikawa manages to stagger, and Iwaizumi just wordlessly pass him his phone, a message chat open on it, a photo pulled up to occupy half of the screen.

It is, technically speaking, a very tragic selfie. Kageyama and Ushijima are both trying to fit in the picture without touching too much, and they’re both as stoic as ever as they stare into the camera, and the picture is slightly crooked. Oikawa takes a look at it and almost falls off the bed with an outraged yelp.

_Yeah_ , Iwaizumi thinks, pocketing back his phone. _It was worth keeping it_.

“Somehow this is even more disturbing than you having some weird mind reading ability, Iwa-chan”.

Iwaizumi laughs, patting Oikawa’s leg until he scoots over and makes room for him to get on the bed as well.

“Apparently Hinata sent him a picture of you too together and Kageyama almost had a stroke,” he laughs, thumb scrolling up to the incoherent string of messages that he got that morning, Kageyama asking with a distressing number of typos why Oikawa and Hinata were in the same picture.

Oikawa gives an indignant squawk.

“That doesn’t concern him,” he says, and it’s more bite than actual heat. At this point, berating Kageyama is an ingrained movement. Iwaizumi prods his calf with his foot.

“Come on, he misses his best friend,” he needles him. “If I were still in Tokyo and got a picture like that, I would probably ask the same”.

Oikawa grumbles and shimmies away, getting his legs off the bed.

“Tell him that Shrimpy is fine,” he caves in the end, his voice a petulant whine. “I’m going to take a shower now”.

When Oikawa comes out, skin rosy with the warm water and damp hair hanging flat around his face, Iwaizumi’s phone is already plugged in and he’s sprawled on the bed, a drowsy smile when he sees him.

Oikawa can’t help stopping and staring, taking in the view; something very warm unfurls in his chest, and it must show in his sappy smile if the huff that escapes Iwaizumi’s lips is an indicator.

“Come here,” Iwaizumi beckons, and Oikawa naturally follows, slipping into bed with him, taking care to tangle their legs together as much as possible. They’ll drift away as soon as they actually get down to sleep, but for now Oikawa tries to fill every nook and cranny of the space that they can share.

Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to mind.

“With the head-start I got tonight, we should be able to get a full day of sightseeing before my flight back,” he muses, fingers playing lightly with Oikawa’s. “I’m sorry, we planned this holiday and then I ended up having to study for the better part of it”.

There’s an undercurrent of worry and guilt in his words, something off in the way his fingers tangle with Oikawa’s like he feels he has to hold on. Oikawa tuts gently, nuzzling his face in his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m just glad I got to see you, Iwa-chan,” he says, voice soft with affection and sleep. “It’s worth it either way. But I’d love to have a full day for ourselves”.

They fall silent, already drifting toward sleep. With the last bout of strength, Oikawa stretches over to the nightstand and turns off the light.

“I think I’ll go back to the beach, tomorrow,” he murmurs then, settling down to sleep with a satisfied hum. “It was fun today”.

Iwaizumi smiles, and drags Oikawa closer until his mouth is pressed against his shoulder, and his nose nestles into damp hair.

“I’m glad,” he smiles, dropping a kiss to the warm skin under his lips. “Sleep well, Tooru”.


	3. My Heart Is a Worried Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “After all this time, Tooru?”
> 
> “There’s no shame in remembering old promises, Iwa-chan,” comes the answer, strangely protective.

“I need to talk to you”.

Iwaizumi lifts his head from his book at Oikawa’s words. They’re past the time where these same words would have sent him into a spiral of panic, but Oikawa still looks nervous, chewing on his cheek and wringing his hands a bit. So Iwaizumi puts down his book, sits straighter on the couch, and pats the spot next to himself.

“Come on then,” he says, voice gentle.

It has been a nice week so far; opposed to last year and their escapade in Rio, this time they’ve opted to spend Iwaizumi’s time off from college in San Juan. It has been Oikawa’s idea and, even if Iwaizumi is sure that it is because he doesn’t want to risk having to share their time together, it turned out to be a good idea, because now Iwaizumi gets to wake up every day in a house, Tooru’s home, and pretend that he can do that every day.

It has been a very nice, domestic week for them; he sincerely hopes that it will stay the same even after this conversation.

Oikawa sits gingerly on the couch, back too straight with tension. The movement jostles a bit the cushions and Scully, Oikawa’s adopted stray cat, meows in offense from where she was sleeping. That cat is a menace and, much like her owner, seems to have taken a liking to Iwaizumi — too bad neither of them likes to share.

“What happened, Tooru?”

Oikawa sighs; it leaves him suddenly emptier, shoulders drawn in, mouth in a thin line.

“I got a call today,” he mutters, not meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes; Iwaizumi’s mind is reeling a bit from all the possibilities, all the things that could be wrong, and how to fix each of them so that Oikawa doesn’t have to. “From the Argentinian Volleyball Federation”.

Iwaizumi hums, urging him to continue. His hands have grabbed Oikawa’s with a mind of their own, and he’s dragging soothing patterns onto his palm.

“They said they have been watching me playing the last season. And apparently, Blanco recommended me or something,” when he finally meets his eyes, Oikawa looks scared. “With Tokyo coming closer, they said they could help me with the naturalization process, or just a passport in the meantime, and they would recruit me for the Argentinian national team”.

Ah, Iwaizumi thinks, taking a moment to consider this new piece of information. It would make sense.

“It would make sense,” he echoes out loud, so not to leave Oikawa hanging. Oikawa, who shared this with him; Oikawa, who has rarely looked as scared as he looks now. “They would be blind not to recognize your talent”.

Oikawa’s hands have the very fine tremors that Iwaizumi has learned to recognize by now. He’s still drawn in, still very small in his own living room, in his own life that has built here, in San Juan.

Still so damn reluctant to make himself happy, it seems.

“What got you so scared?”

Even before Oikawa speaks, tongue briefly darting to wet his lips, Iwaizumi _knows_. But Oikawa won’t say and analyze it until prompted, and he really needs to analyze it sooner rather than later.

“It’s a pretty big step, Iwa-chan,” he says, petulant in a way that echoes their adolescence.

“Not the first one you’ve ever taken,” Iwaizumi gently reminds, and his stare moves to encompass everything around in case Oikawa ever forgets where his leap of faith landed him.

“Yes, but it always felt—”

“Not final”.

“Yes!” Oikawa’s eyes sparkle a bit, happy as usual to be understood. “I always felt like I had left the door propped open, just a slit where I could slip back. But if I take this, I’m done for. I won’t be playing forthe Japanese national team”.

They fall into a speculative silence, their hands linked in between them, breaths shared in the stillness of the room.

Oikawa is the first one once again to break the silence.

“Do you remembers Worlds 2002?”

Iwaizumi nods; of course he does remember. He remembers squishing with a small, snotty Oikawa on the Oikawas’ couch after promising Oikawa’s mom they had finished their homework, and watching the first major volleyball competition of their lives. He remembers the elation, the awestruck feeling he got watching pro players for the first time in his life. He remembers them like the best Worlds of his life, even if Japan only placed ninth. And he remembers—

“Oh,” he says, and when he lift his eyes there’s a rosy color to Oikawa’s cheeks, and his eyes are pointedly averted somewhere beyond his shoulder.

And he remembers Oikawa’s fingers sticky with whatever sweet pastry he had been eating grabbing his hands, and excitingly proclaiming that one day they will be there for sure, playing for the Japanese national team _together_.

A soft laughs escapes his lips.

“After all this time, Tooru?”

“There’s no shame in remembering old promises, Iwa-chan,” comes the answer, strangely protective.

Iwaizumi sighs, shifting on the couch until he’s properly facing Oikawa; he brings their linked hands up, cradling them in his hands, held up against his heart, their hearts.

“Tooru,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft, with a hint of reproach. “You know this is the opportunity of a lifetime”.

Oikawa drops his shoulder,a stubborn pout on his lips.

“It was our childhood dream,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“Tooru, _you_ were my childhood dream,” Iwaizumi’s face is very open, his voice very kind. “And I got it. You, _this_ —” his eyes roams Oikawa’s living room, taking in Mulder and Scully sleeping around the room, the couple of plants on the windowsill, the several photos peppering every surface available. “It’s more than enough to make me happy. So, what will make _you_ happy?”

“You’re such a sap, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa grumbles, but Iwaizumi can hear the edge of tears in his voice. Always a crybaby, his Tooru. “I guess—I guess that finally showing Tobio-chan up wouldn’t be so bad”.

“You’re a menace,” Iwaizumi says, but he’s smiling. He leans forward, cupping a hand around Oikawa’s face (where it fits perfectly still after all these years) to tilt his head up and get a clear look of his tear-rimmed eyes and the wobbly smile on his lips.

“It’s a good thing you love menaces, Iwa-chan”.

Iwaizumi laughs, leans forward and fits his lips against Oikawa’s, pushes a bit until he feels him relax, smile less tentative, breath still damp with tears but also a bit more happy, he thinks.

“Good thing I really do, then”.


End file.
